Next-Level Photography
by Dovahtiink
Summary: In which Tim finds a date and realizes he might be a hipster, Dick has a sniper problem and commits fashion atrocities, Jason makes waffles and screams a lot, and Damian makes disgusted noises. *** not actually a crack!fic
1. Makeovers and Unsavory News

Next-Level Photography

* * *

(B)(R)(B)

* * *

"Dick? Dick! Dick I swear you'd better hurry and open this door before I decide to use the window again! Dick? DICK!"

A few more heart-stopping moments of silence later and Tim's eldest brother cracked open the splintered door of his crappy apartment, one bright blue eye gazing at him blearily before recognition dawned.

"...Tim? What - ?"

Tim pushed past the older teen and burst into the dimly lit room, dramatically collapsing on the patched sofa. He ran a hand through his hair and yanked hard, staring blankly at the empty screen of the television and ignoring the person he'd been knocking down a door for seconds ago. Dick made a move to sit down beside him but seemingly thought better of it, letting out a tired sigh before finishing putting on the t-shirt he'd barely managed to grab when he heard the ruckus. His hair was dripping down his neck uncomfortably and he wondered what on _earth _had brought his little brother all the way from Gotham to _his _apartment – a thirty minute drive to Bludhaven.

"So…uh, what's got tiny Timmy in such a terrible tizzy?" he asked cautiously, making a mental note that the bags under Tim's eyes somehow looked worse than usual.

Normally, Tim would have scoffed or rolled his eyes at Dick's stupid alliterations, but he merely continued to stare into the void with that nearly-expressionless look – only classified as 'nearly' because it was borderline terrified.

"I-it was decaf…" the third Robin whispered, his fists clenching at his sides. Before the words had fully sunk into Dick's fried brain (make that _deep _fried with the week he'd been having), he spoke again. "I'm trying to do better…need to pull m'self together… she won't want to have anything to do with me when I smell like a half-burnt Starbucks all the time…gotta cut back on the caffeine…it was decaf…"

"Oh, Timmy." Dick sighed, throwing caution to the wind and hopping up to sit cross-legged on the arm of the couch, a small part of his brain absentmindedly glad that he'd been running around so much this week he hadn't had time to clutter up his apartment. "What's this about? You mentioned a girl? You're giving up coffee for a girl?"

"NO!" Tim roared suddenly, nearly causing Dick to lose his balance. "I could never! I'm not giving up on coffee! That's crazy even for you! No, I just…I just need to…I need…"

"To get rid of the bags under your eyes so this chick doesn't think you're an addict?" Dick smirked, pleased at the dirty look his brother shot him. It was a nice change from the void-stare.

"No! I mean – yes! I mean, ugh. Yeah. Kinda?"

Tim visibly deflated, especially when he noticed the gleam appear in his brother's eyes.

"You're in luck, Timbo. Now, let's make both you and I a nice, big pot of Joe and I'll get my makeup kit."

Tim made a weird sound like a cross between a snort and a hiccup, smacking his face with the palm of his hand and slowly dragging it down. Blame the coffee withdrawal, but he'd forgotten all about the makeup kits. Usually they were only used to cover any injuries that would be visible to the public eye (the last thing any of them needed was the press latching onto another child abuse theory concerning the Wayne's), but the foundation would do just as well to cover the dark bruises under his eyes.

Dick was humming some song that sounded suspiciously like Imagine Dragons and filling the coffee maker with tap water.

Ew.

Then again, it wasn't like Dick's apartment was in any way properly furnished, much less contained a water filter system, and Tim suspected that if he were to open the fridge right now he'd see nothing but old Chinese takeout leftovers and maybe some milk. Meanwhile, he had no doubt the cabinets were fully stocked with the sugariest cereal his older brother could find in the store. For the umpteenth time, Tim wondered why in the world Dick had picked such a crappy apartment, although by Bludhaven's standards, it was probably the best he could find.

Still, the least he could do was make it somewhat livable.

…And maybe stop leaving various pieces of his Nightwing suit lying out.

"Careful, it's hot. We wouldn't want you burning off your taste buds and being unable to enjoy the lovely meal you'll be sharing with your date now, would we?" Dick teased, making his way back over to the couch and hopping back up on the arm without spilling a single drop from either mug he carried. He passed the largest one to Tim, a chipped piece of crockery that may or may not have actually been a soup bowl once.

"Dick, stop."

His brother laughed lightly, and something about it seemed off to Tim. He raised his mug to gently blow away the little curls of steam that wafted from the black liquid, watching Dick over the rim. The first Robin's hair was dripping wet and a little longer than the last time he'd seen him. His face looked drawn, the skin a touch too pale and his blue eyes sporting bags as dark as Tim's own. He looked tired. And weirdly on edge – his eyes constantly flicking to the periphery as though he couldn't help himself, like the very shadows in the corner could spring to life at any moment and attempt to end his own.

"How's things in Bludhaven? Are you still taking care of the drug cartel?" Tim asked casually, unable to stop the little shiver of delight he felt as the first swig of caffeine slid down his throat and warmed him to his toes. Ahh, coffee. He would never deny the first love of his life again.

"I took care of the rest of the coalition two weeks ago, it's Roland Desmond this time." Dick stated, his voice taking on a dark tone that was rarely heard from the normally optimistic nineteen year-old.

"Desmond? Isn't that the mob boss guy?"

"With strings attached to every authoritative figure in this city? The guy who could bench press the batmobile with his pinky finger? The guy who makes Penguin and Two Face look like two-time wheedlers on the street corner? The guy that – "

"Okay, geez, I get it. Roland Desmond is a nasty dude. So… what's he been up to lately that's got you running on fumes?"

Dick shifted uncomfortably, staring into his mug with a broody look that just looked plain wrong on him. "I'm fine. He's just put out a hit on Nightwing – "

"Wait, WHAT?"

Tim couldn't believe his ears, didn't _want _to believe his ears. He grasped his mug tighter, paying no attention to how it scalded his fingers. The thought of someone out there with their sights trained on his brother's head…it was no wonder Dick looked like someone was out to get him. It also explained the caution with which he had opened the door.

"Dick, he's… he's got a sniper following you?"

"Following Nightwing," Dick corrected, as though it were somehow better.

"On Nightwing," Tim repeated slowly, shaking his head. "Have you told Bruce?"

"No, and you won't either." Dick growled, standing up abruptly. "Now, I'm going to go get some concealer and you're going to look nice and pretty for your potential girlfriend, who you still have told me nothing about. Drink your coffee and stop worrying about me, I'll be fine."

"Dick – "

His brother stormed off to the bedroom leaving Tim to try and follow his advice, his stomach suddenly queasy.


	2. Birdwatching is Cool

Chapter 2

* * *

"Just a little bit to the right…no, the left. No – perfect, _perfect! _Ah, Timmy, there's no way she's gonna be able to resist your level of boyishly nerdy charm right now."

"Dick, I have contacts. I don't actually need to wear my glasses."

"Psh, it makes you look intelligent. I mean, obviously you are intelligent, but this makes you look the part. You said you guys met on some kind of a detective website thingy and she likes to read, right?"

"Reddit conspiracy theory board. The 'is Batman actually Bruce Wayne's long lost brother?' thread, if I remember right."

Dick snickered at that, stepping back to view his brother with critical, bloodshot eyes. Tim shifted uncomfortably under the blue-eyed gaze, reaching up to push his black-rimmed glasses into place and mentally wincing at the hipster look he was sure he was sporting. Still, it wasn't like he could complain. Dick was literally the only person he could go to for this kind of thing (excluding Alfred, but he figured even hipster-Tim was better than the formal suit or vest and khakis the butler would have given him to wear), and his eternally energetic brother had managed to squeeze 'primping Tim' into his already overly-packed schedule – or more namely, his one-hour lunch break at his day job.

Bludhaven cop, complete with uniform and oversized coffee thermos.

Despite Dick's reassurances that he was fine, Tim could see the strain of his night and day jobs were beginning to take their toll on even his energy reserves, and the sniper situation was giving 'haggard' a whole new definition on the acrobat's patchy sleeping schedule.

Tim jerked himself out of his thoughts before Dick figured out he wasn't thinking about his imminent date with Callie. He felt himself smile a little at the thought of her. They may have met online, but their casual shared interest in the strange and unknowns of the world (Bruce and Batman aside) had found them exchanging emails and continuing their talks outside of the Reddit thread, eventually extending into more personal life subjects. A week ago he had found out she was transferring to Gotham Elite (a very prestigious college that just showed how intelligent she had to be), and they had decided to arrange a….meeting in person.

Or, a date. Call it what you will.

At first Callie wanted to checkout a tiny café for a breakfast date, but knowing Dick would probably only just be getting in from his night job at that time, Tim had asked to make it a late lunch, to which she graciously agreed.

His palms were sweating.

Oh gosh, his palms were sweating.

Oh gosh.

Ohgoshohgoshohgosh.

"Tim, breathe."

Dick's hand was resting on his shoulder. Tim swallowed, distantly wondering why it seemed so hard to do just that.

"You're gonna do just fine. Just…stay whelmed, okay? You're gonna knock this one out of the stadium."

Tim wheezed a little laugh. "You mean ballpark?"

"Stadium, ballpark, coliseum, to-mate-to, to-mah-to."

Dick flashed him a bright grin, leaning over and giving him a hug. Tim even found himself uncharacteristically leaning into the embrace, the stiff collar of the dark blue jacket brushing against his neck and the cold metal of the badge poking him in the chest.

"Let me know how it goes, little bird," his older brother whispered in his ear before pulling away, still looking at him with that look of pride that Tim still didn't feel he deserved.

"Yeah, don't worry, I will. And Dick? Th-thank you."

Dick started to wave him off but Tim continued to maintain eye contact, trying to get across everything he wanted to say in one look.

"Seriously. You didn't have to go through all this trouble. Just…just take care of yourself, okay?"

The first Robin's smile faltered for a fleeting second, barely noticeable.

"Of course, Timmy. Of course."

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)

* * *

Late afternoon sun was bathing the buildings and streets around them in its glorious light, giving all the harsh lines and synthetic colors of the city life a softer look while simultaneously providing a deeper contrast with the darkened shadows. Rush hour traffic had just ended, only a few cars lined up at slow-blinking traffic lights and the occasional window shopper strolling down the sidewalk with a click of heels on pavement.

Tim sat with his hands on his thighs, trying to keep them dry against his jeans and trying not to stare too much at the young lady sitting across the metal-link table from him. The sun was overhead in such a way that the blue and white umbrella spread above them angled shade over Tim alone. Despite his offers to switch seats, Callie had insisted on staying put, saying it was about time she got a little sun.

Her date wasn't about to complain, either.

The sun lit up Callie's golden-brown curls in a halo around her heart-shaped face, and her smooth mocha skin certainly didn't seem lacking of sun. Her hazel eyes, minimal with makeup, almost seemed to glow gently as they caught the light. Even the tiny mole on her left cheek was cute and endearing.

Good grief, 'endearing.'

Alfred was wearing off on him.

"…So, what's some more of your hobbies? I know you're big into creepy pastas and conspiracy theories and you definitely know your memes…"

She laughed at that, and Tim smiled, still in a bit of a daze. Even the half-empty mocha latte before him wasn't helping shake him out of his awe-struck stupor. He couldn't help it – she was just so pretty, and smart, and funny, and kind, and –

"Tim?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah. Uh… I like…" he squeaked out, his mind suddenly going disturbingly blank. Disturbing, because his mind always seemed far too cluttered and overworked. "…computers?" he finally got out, mentally kicking himself when it came out like a question. Callie raised her eyebrows, leaning forward a little and propping her chin on her hands.

"Like, hacking and stuff?"

"Yeah. I mean, kind of?" Tim stammered, blushing. That wasn't exactly something Tim Drake-Wayne should be doing in his spare time, probably. "It's not like that – it's more tech-related and just…keeping the security systems at the manor updated. The only time I hack is to double-check them, and maybe make Bruce mad."

Callie laughed again. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

"That's a pretty obscure hobby, but I'm not really one to judge. I'm rather fond of birdwatching, myself."

"Oh?" Tim asked, trying to sound more interested than he actually felt. He and nature had a rather bad habit of not really getting along, particularly when there were birds involved. He'd spent at least an hour trying to scrub bird droppings out of his hair the last time Dick had dragged them all together for some 'brotherly bonding time,' which meant a hike. In nature. With no cellphone service. Jason and Damian had both laughed their stupid heads off and Dick had nearly had a fit trying to scold them and calm an irate Tim down at the same time. Seeing as they had all been Robins at one time, the whole thing was pretty ironic.

Tim shivered and tried to smile. If Callie picked up on his discomfort, she gave no sign and continued to talk, her features alighting with passion as she described the various types of birds she had captured shots of, how difficult they had been to find and even more so how to stay hidden so that they weren't alerted to her presence.

"But there is one bird that just keeps eluding me, I don't think I've ever had to chase after one this long," she said wistfully, looking skyward. "it's like it can sense me there or something. All I see is a flash of blue and then it's gone, just like that."

She snapped her fingers, unwittingly causing Tim to sit up a little straighter. Darn Bruce and the training he made them all go through that would put the Navy Seals to shame.

"I'll get a shot of it one day, though. I don't give up easily and it would really spice up my collection."

On a sudden whim, Tim leaned over and took her hand, grateful that the air had cooled so that his hands were no longer sweaty. Her hand was warm and soft beneath his, calloused in places where he assumed various garden tools had rubbed, based on her other hobby she'd divulged to him. "You'll get it. Just keep trying and just about anything can be possible." he told her earnestly, feeling hypocritical but genuine nonetheless. Her eyes were warm.

"If I do, you'll be the first to know."

Tim blushed again.

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)

* * *

The roofs were almost as slick as the pavement.

The rain fell in wavering sheets, the usual street noises and loud music of your typical downtown Bludhaven night drowned out by the roar of wind and water. Hazy orange lights flickered from the occasional street lamp, the night mostly illuminated by rows of car headlights and various shades of fluorescent lighting. Tires screeched, horns honked, metal scraped against metal, and somewhere a dog was yapping incessantly.

Nightwing would be lying if he said he didn't love it.

To him, even the nastiest places in Bludhaven had a sort of stale charm to them – seeing it thrive in its own squalor against all odds was not unlike watching a dung beetle roll its burden around all day. Although it wasn't exactly just observation Nightwing was here for, per say. No, he was here to do his best to get it cleaned up – to give the least rotten parts a fighting chance to heal and emerge stronger. To defend the innocent and save the guilty. To value every life and prevent the losing of such. The Yin to the Yang. The light to the dark. The Riders of the Rohirrim to the Orcs. Or something.

Now, if only _Bludhaven _understood that sentiment.

High above the bright streets and dark alleys, Nightwing was ignoring the earpiece that connected him directly to his phone back at the apartment. He was _also_ attempting to block three katanas from slicing his head off, his only defense two ecrisma sticks and a rather flexible spine that allowed him to avoid that third razor-sharp edge.

"Do you ever have those days where someone calls you while you're super busy and they really want to chat but you're kind of having a day?"

Nightwing spun and dropped to one knee before jabbing his elbow into one of Ra's Al-Ghul's Shadows, pleased when the ninja let out a pained grunt and staggered back. He finished the job with a powerful crescent kick to their temple, turning his focus back onto the others, grinning widely in a way that was no doubt unnerving – all flashing white teeth in the semi-darkness.

Seven down, two to go.

"I mean, it's not that you don't _want _to talk with them but you're cranky and overworked and – "

He swept the leg of one and used the momentum to fling himself into a back handspring, bringing his heels back into the other and using the second ninja as a springboard to flip feet-first into the chest of numero uno.

" – you kinda missed your lunch break and had to grab some pizza from the cafeteria that tasted like someone chewed up a tomato and a block of cheese and then spit it onto a big pan of bread-flavored gum."

The first ninja actually began to back away when Nightwing slammed both ecrisma sticks into his current opponent's neck, effectively disabling them through the pressure points. The black haired vigilante turned slowly to face the remaining Shadow, twirling his sticks in a way that was casually threatening. The blue wings stretching across the chest of his suit seemed to almost glow in the dim lighting of the streets below.

"Tell Ra's I said I'm not coming to his little 'Detective christening' party. In fact, tell him his party favors suck and he's not getting any Christmas cards from me this year. Or ever."

The ninja quietly slipped off into the shadows to which he belonged.

It was several minutes before Nightwing stopping watching for any straggler enemies and allowed himself to relax slightly, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Leave it to Ra's to pick the worst time to try and recruit him for his stupid heir thing. _Again. _

The dark, clouded sky was still pouring buckets but the wind had died down a bit, leaving him able to feel every bit like the drowned rat he undoubtedly resembled. He reached up and pushed his sodden bangs away from the lenses in his mask, too tired to attempt to do much more. Every part of him ached deep in the bone and his stomach felt uncomfortably small and hollow with hunger.

Who would he have to kill to get some of Alfred's lobster bisque right now?

Then again, that would probably be the least effective thing to do.

"I'll see how your date went in a bit, Tim," he whispered, declining yet another call from his younger brother. "three robberies, a house fire, domestic abuse, a kidnapping, and maybe a bowl of cereal and a nice, hot shower have to come first."

That kidnapping earlier that night had been something else. As the ward of billionaire and Gotham's finest, Bruce Wayne, he had been the victim of plenty of kidnappings himself. But seeing it like this, a little girl no more than seven years old held for ransom against her father by a rival gang, it had really got to him. He might have used a little more force than necessary against the despicable lowlifes when rescuing the poor child, but he'd at least covered her eyes. More than he could say for a certain dark, brooding, mammal-of-the-night.

While he had emerged from this particular Bludhaven night unscathed aside from a few scratches and bruises, Nightwing could feel the last few weeks of rising crime levels and life-or-death situations beginning to weigh his entire body and mind down with what felt like lead chains, making his every step drag and every breath a slight struggle. He had just made up his mind to straighten his back and will his steps forward across the slimy wet concrete of the roof, deciding that he'd bag a couple burgers at the nearest In-and-Out and end his patrol for the night, when it hit him.

Or more accurately, he could feel it _about _to hit him.

The sudden fear prickled through him like electricity, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise and his blood run cold. Instinct had him moving before the fear had even completely registered, every muscle tense and ready for action, but it was years upon years of long hours spent training with Batman in various states of sensory deprivation and responses to surprise attacks that had him formulating and executing a plan in a split second.

The kidnapping and the emotions it had brought to surface had distracted him from the equally elusive hitman he'd had on his tail for the past week and a half. But here, in the middle of the rooftop in the pouring rain, not deep enough in the shadows to be invisible, to be hidden, pushed and stretched past his limits and running on fumes…he was a sitting duck.

The perfect opportunity for someone looking to put a bullet through his brain, and he had never particularly liked ducks – that was Damian's department.

He had three choices.

One: do the instinctive thing and immediately duck to the ground to escape the headshot. Nope. He wouldn't be fast enough and the bullet would still likely clip the top of his head. Survival rate for a gunshot to the head? Five percent. Three percent for achieving any sort of quality life afterwards.

Nah.

Option two: Keep calm and get a grip, Grayson. You're just antsy and sleep-deprived and you're imagining things because you're almost as paranoid now as the old man. Stay still.

Definitely nah.

Three: Jump and twist to the side to give the oncoming bullet a less life-threatening path while also jumping off the roof and making your escape but quite possibly getting badly injured and having the added factor of trying not to fall to your death while bleeding out.

WWBD? What Would Batman Do?

Yeah, probably that last one. If Mr. I'm-big-and-bulky-and-have-more-muscle-than-you-have-brain-cells could manage something a little more complicated than a forward tuck, much less an aerial, that is.

What happened next was quite honestly a bit of a blur after Nightwing's body and the situation had caught up with the speed of his thoughts. What felt like every last ounce of energy he had left sparked an explosion of movement that had him jumping and twisting right off the side of the building, one hand already reaching down and bringing out his grappling gun. But before the weightlessness of falling could greet him there was a whistling sound followed by a sharp, burning pain in the side of his neck.

He gasped, his vision briefly going white before adrenaline took over and he pushed it all aside, blindly shooting out his line and thanking his lucky stars when he felt it lock on and pull at his arm. Another second later and the burning pain returned as he continued his grappling through the city, a heavy liquid far too warm to be rain running down the collar of his suit. The next fifteen minutes were agonizingly long as he circled and swept around the city in a random pattern, attempting to shake off any pursuit he might have and unable to help letting out a few groans when he had to switch arms mid-flight. The movement tugged on what felt like a gaping hole in his neck, and judging by the dizziness and general weakness he was feeling, Nightwing knew he didn't have too long before he'd straight up pass out from the blood loss.

"Home it is." he muttered through gritted teeth, then jumped off another building.


	3. Missed Calls, Enter DaddyBats

Chapter 3

* * *

The window was cracked just enough to remain unlocked but keep his electricity bill low, but it was still weirdly hard to get open.

Okay, maybe not that weird, seeing as his entire right side from his neck all the way down his arm and mid-waist were thoroughly covered in blood, the red dark against the black of his costume. None of the lights were on in his apartment (no silhouettes to give away what might look like a break-in to the outside viewer) and his makeup kit was still strewn across the shipping crate that made up his makeshift coffee table.

Carefully, Nightwing eased himself into the room, privately thinking he was doing rather well for having been shot in the neck. A few steps from the couch he and Tim had occupied the other day however, his knees buckled and he lurched forward, banging his shins against the bottom of the couch before sprawling into an awkward bear hug over the back of it.

"O-ow…Aw, man…"

There was black around the edges of his vision that had nothing to do with the lack of lights. His head felt heavier on one side and his throat was aching like it had been punched. Which it had, sorta. He groaned again and feebly grasped at the back of the couch, pulling himself a bit more upright until he could twist and rest the back of his neck against it, feeling a slight relief when the pressure was taken off.

He needed to get to the bathroom and start stitching it up.

Not to mention bloodstains were a devil to get out of fabric, and he was out of baking soda so that meant another trip to the store…

...and while he was at it he needed to pick up some more milk…

…maybe a few new towels, he'd had to throw away so many…

…bloodstains were hard to wash out…

…stupid snipers…

…neck…hurts…

…so tired.

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)

* * *

…_little girl…eyes so wide and scared…he was in the trunk of a car, hands bound behind him…the idiots had left the car running, he was going to breathe in the exhaust…she was so young…Bruce would find him, he always does...there was something on his neck…something in the trunk was pressing into his neck…she was so scared but she hugged his neck and buried her face into his shoulder…his neck was starting to hurt now…why wasn't Bruce coming for him…why…_

Nightwing jerked awake with a gasp, his breath hitching as the burning sensation in his neck intensified. He raised a shaking hand to it, his gloved fingers coming away red and glistening.

Still bleeding, then.

Bathroom. Stitches. Right.

_Falling. Falling. Their necks… _

"No! Nuh-uh. S-stitches. Bleeding bad. Stitches good." he breathed, recognizing the signs of shock Memories always got jumbled when he started going into shock. He groaned again and bit back a whimper when he lifted his head from the couch. The fact he could even speak out loud showed the bullet had miraculously avoided anything major, so a deep graze, then. He could work with that.

If he could make it to the bathroom, that is.

With another waning burst of energy Nightwing shoved himself upright and lurched toward the open door of the bathroom, stumbling forward and catching himself on the frame before reaching up and ripping off his mask, swearing a little when it felt like it took half the skin off his face with it. He took another few wobbly steps and braced his arms against the sink, his reflection a rather alarming picture. His hair was stuck in black slicks across bloodshot eyes framed with reddened skin from the mask, and his skin was the approximate color of Tim's favorite junk food – marshmallows. Oh, and then there was all that freaking blood gushing from his neck that suddenly seemed ten times worse now that he had looked at it - unmasked and defenseless Dick Grayson once more.

Tears prickled suddenly, blurring his vision and making his breath catch in his throat in a way that was definitely, most _definitely _not a sob. He was just…stressed. Just stressed, and tired, and overworked, and shot, and –

And missing Alfred's excellent medical care and his famously addictive cookies.

Missing Tim's incessant worrying and babbling about the possibilities of infection while he leaned over the back of a chair and watched Alfred work with anxious eyes, unaware that his leg was bouncing.

Just missing Damian's exasperated, 'Grayson, if you do not stop needlessly putting yourself in danger and feeling the need to be a self-sacrificing idiot every time someone is in the slightest hint of danger, I swear I shall have father and Pennyworth strap you to a gurney and invite Todd over to read 'Wuthering Heights' to you until you are rested enough to realize how much of an idiot you are.'

That one had happened more than once, and Dick was sure his youngest brother would follow through with the threat this time.

Bruce….

All Bruce would have to do is give him the Look and stay as quiet as he always did, the air heavy with his disapproval, but his eyes betraying his concern.

Dick felt another tear escape, leaving a stinging trail until it reached his neck and burned once it hit the wound. With a sniffle (it was just allergies, of course. Allergies.) he reached up and wiped his eyes before retrieving his suture kit from the compartment behind the mirror. Luckily his Kevlar-cutting scissors were still on the sink where he left them.

As he awkwardly tilted his neck to the side and pinched the wound closed with one hand while holding the curved needle poised at the entry with his other, Dick wondered if it was too late to just retire from the hero thing and maybe take up needle point.

He'd probably be pretty good at it.

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B) 

* * *

_Timbo – Missed Call 9:47 PM_

_Timbo – Missed Call 11:55 PM_

_Timbo – Missed Call 2:56 AM_

_The (Not)Girlfriend – Missed Call 3:01 AM_

_Timbo – Missed Call 3:30 AM_

_Timbo – Missed Call 3:34 AM_

_Timbo – Missed Call 3:37 AM_

_DaddyBats – Missed Call 4:06 AM_

_DaddyBats – Missed Call 5:00 AM_

_Timbo – Missed Call 5:18 AM_

_RedRidingHoodie – Missed Call 5:19 AM_

_Timbo – Missed Call 5:33 AM  
_

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)

* * *

Okay, so maybe Dick wasn't that far off when he'd dressed Tim up like a hipster for his date with Callie.

As Tim kicked his off his hiker's boots into the tasteful milk crate used for shoes by the door, he took a moment look around his West Gotham apartment house with an attempt at objectivity.

The walls were mostly exposed brick with hints of stripped wood, the floors all walnut. Naked lightbulbs provided a dim but cozy lighting and behind the bar, rows of various empty but aesthetically pleasing wine bottles graced the built-in shelves. There was an assortment of coffee grinders, espresso makers, blenders, and coffeebags lining the counters, and the refrigerator was sparingly stocked with cheese samplers, filet mignon, some old grapes, and an unopened jar of jalepenos. The couches were faded plaid facing a massive flat screen supported by a curved, artsy-looking entertainment center, and a chinchilla rug completed the look.

Just a little hipster. What could he say? Next to Damian, Tim had been the most well-off kid Bruce took in, his parents having been part of Gotham's high society. Dick had been a circus kid with costumes nicer than his town clothes and Jason had taken to the streets once his mom finally succumbed to the drug addiction and no longer provided for him. Damian had basically been an Arabic Prince (which did nothing to help what was probably an ingrained snotty personality, in Tim's opinion) and as such, never let anyone forget it. Except Alfred. No one back talked Alfred.

Tim sighed and drug himself to the bedroom, emerging five minutes later in sweats, socks, and a t-shirt that was too large from him. Probably one of Dick's or Jason's that had gotten mixed up in the laundry Alfred sent back with him since he was too busy to do it himself last week. Judging by the faint smell of cigarette smoke that still stuck to the worn, red cotton, he rightly guessed it had been Jason's. Whoops.

All in all the date had gone quite wonderfully, or Callie had been wonderful. Tim was just glad his most embarrassing moment had probably been pushing the pull door when he tried to open it for her. Callie hadn't seemed to mind at all though and had only laughed that tinkling little laugh she had. Tim smiled just at the thought of it, pulling out his phone and tapping the call button next to Dick's name.

_Hey, this is Dick. I'm probably doing something SUPER boring like playing Guitar HERO and if it's NIGHT, you might not be able to reach me because I'll be sleeping as one does to get their beauty and such, but if it's an emergency I might be able to WING it. BEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeep_

"Real subtle there, bro." Tim muttered, glancing at the clock.

9:47 PM.

It was both late and early enough for either Dick Grayson or Nightwing.

He decided to wait a couple hours and try again.

11:55 PM.

_Please leave a message at the tone. Beeeeeeeeeep – _

"Hey, just wanted to let you know the date went great, Callie's great, I did okay, everything's great. Uh, so…yeah. Just wanted to let you know, and thanks again for all the help. Please call me back when you get a chance."

2:56 AM.

_Please leave a message at the tone. Beeeeeeeeeep –_

"Hey man, I know you're probably busy…uh, _sleeping, _but if you could just call me when you get a chance, just to…you know…uh, just call me back. Please."

Tim stared at his phone with groggy eyes, tired from his own patrol but unwilling to rest until he heard back from his brother. Dick hadn't ignored or missed this many calls since Bruce had first died two years back. Chewing his lip for a moment, the third Robin sent a quick text to the one person he figured Dick could never ignore. Barbara Gordon.

_TDW: Yo BG, would you mind calling Dick for me? He's not answering his phone. _

_B. Gordon: k _

_TDW: thnks_

Two minutes later and Barbara informed him that Dick hadn't answered her either and he was probably just dealing with some heavy crime on tonight's patrol.

Tim frowned beneath his mask and tried to believe her.

4:01 AM

Three attempted calls later and Tim was ready to bring out the big guns.

He called Bruce.

The Batman was clearly exasperated and annoyed at him underneath the growling dark knight voice, but he shortly promised to call Dick and tell him to call his brother back if he could get a hold of him. The reassurance of that lasted for all of an hour before Tim was listening to Dick's stupid voicemail again, his heart sinking lower when it was five o' clock in the morning and neither Nightwing nor Dick Grayson had picked up.

He stared at a contact name in his recent calls list, weighed his options for a moment, and then dialed Jason Todd. His estranged brother's voice was rough and patchy with crappy cell reception. Worst, he sounded like he'd just been woken up.

"I swear, you'd better have a good reason for this, Replacement, or so help me I will put a bullet in your kneecap the next time I see you."

Tim winced at the thought. His relationship with Jason had gotten a lot better, sure, but even idle threats such as those set him on edge after the second Robin had tried to kill him during his Pit Madness phase. "Dick's not answering his phone, Jay."

"So?"

"You know as well as I do he always answers. He doesn't just miss ten calls in a row, much less from his _family."_

"I'm not his family. You are all dead to me. Because, ya know, I died."

"None of us get a say in the matter. If Dick says we're family, we're family whether we like it or not."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Big Bird and his insane need for Hallmark crap. Gotta say, it makes for good backup in sticky situations."

"Jay – "

"Look, I'll call. But I doubt Golden Boy's gonna go out of his way to answer for little ol' me. Comprendo?"

"Thanks."

"Shut up."

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…_

Tim kneaded his forehead with his gloved hand, having gotten back to his apartment but still crouching by the window in his Red Robin suit. Thirty minutes later and he was back in his t-shirt and sweats, sitting on the couch with keys in one hand and a jacket on his lap. He clutched his phone with a death grip in his other hand, silently vowing that if Dick did not answer this last time, he was making another drive to Bludhaven.

_Rrrrrriiiing…Rrrrrriiiinng…Rrrrrrriiiinng…_

"…Yeah?"

"Dick!" Tim shouted, a grin worthy of the Joker splitting his face as he shot upright, suddenly completely awake.

"Um…yeah?"

If the third Robin had been a little less excited and flooded with relief, he might have noticed his brother's voice was coming in rather weak and faint over the receiver.

"You – you didn't answer and I've called and called and the others couldn't reach you either and – "

"Tim."

He caught it then, his smile faltering. Dick sounded so _tired. _Like just saying his name cost him every ounce of breath he possessed. "Are you okay?" Tim prodded, leaning forward a bit and hugging his jacket to his chest.

"Yeah. I mean…uh…"

Tim's stomach twisted in a knot.

"It's just been a long night. Plus, I uh, I should probably start eating something other than sugar or coffee these days, yeah? I just…crash…when m' home from patrol. Gotta stop that."

The third Robin breathed out a laugh, running his hand through his hair and stopping to scratch the back of his neck. "You're just now getting that? You know, if you didn't do so many extra fancy flips and tricks when you fight you'd probably outweigh Bruce and Jason both."

Dick chuckled from the other end, sounding hollow and a little off, but there nonetheless. After waiting and worrying all night, even that was better than complete silence. His brother was alive and probably just tired.

Alive.

He was okay.

"Anyway, the date went well and I've got you to thank for part of that. Get some rest, Big Bird." Tim said softly, figuring Dick was worn out enough that he'd do just that.

"You too, Timbo. Any time."


	4. Came For the Waffles, Stayed For BroTime

Chapter 4

* * *

Of all the things Dick had expected to wake up to the next morning, it wasn't this.

Somehow, he'd managed to sew himself up, tug off the skin-tight Nightwing suit and his boots, climbed onto his unmade bed, and ungracefully fall asleep lying across it in nothing but his boxers. All the blood had rushed to his legs, which were dangling over the edge, and he'd been lying on his stomach with his head turned away from his stitches, leaving a rather sizeable and aching crick in his already sore neck. It had continued raining through the night and on into the morning, the grey light streaming through the tiny window dappled with watermarks and accompanied by the steady lull of the drizzle tapping against the tin roof of the apartment complex.

It wouldn't be so bad if he just laid there and didn't go into work, right?

Oh crap.

_Work. _

Dick's eyes shot open and he arched his back, throwing himself upwards and gasping when the world grew dark and the movement pulled at his stitches, fully jerking him into painful reality. With a growl of frustration that turned into a groan, the rookie cop drug himself off the bed, one hand on his neck. The thin air of the apartment chilled his skin and as an afterthought, he grabbed the blanket from his bed, letting it drag off and accompany him as he took slow steps to the kitchen. He figured he'd grab a bit of cereal and a protein bar before getting ready for work. Luckily, the collar of his uniform would cover up his neck well enough.

Unfortunately, life just had to make things as difficult as it could for him. Seriously, it had given up throwing lemons at him and had just started chucking hammers and random objects.

There, standing in his kitchen with his back to Dick, every cupboard and even the refrigerator door thrown wide open, was _Jason Freaking Todd. _

"Mother of go - _what _are you doing in my apartment?" he rasped out, indignant and a little freaked out. Jason _never _visited unless he was injured or needed…something…

Right.

"Can I borrow your waffle maker?" Jason asked cheerfully, spinning around with a grin that was somewhere between purposefully annoying and just plain manic. Dick noticed he was in full Red Hood attire, leather jacket, cargo pants, combat boots and all. Well, sans the helmet and even the domino mask. He'd kept the guns, though.

"My…waffle…you came all the way to Bludhaven to borrow my waffle maker."

"Hey, a man's gotta eat and Roy broke mine." Jason casually leaned back against the counter, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in his brother's appearance. That was the thing about Jason, though. He didn't feel the need to comment on the obvious. "So where is it, anyway? And by the way, I don't know if you noticed, but you kind of only have cereal and like, one box of expired macaroni in there."

Wordlessly, Dick dropped the corner of his blanket and walked over, pushed him lightly aside, and took the waffle maker out of the open cabinet directly where Jason's head had been. He set it on the counter with a pointed look.

"…I swear I checked that one, like, twice."

"I don't have any eggs."

"You don't have a lot of things there, Dickiebird. Lucky for us, I brought the goods." Jason replied easily, jerking a thumb over at a slightly ripped bag of groceries sitting on the floor (he didn't have a table yet. Maybe never).

"Just…make your waffles and go, Jay. Now's really not a good time for a visit."

"Whoa there, who are you and what have you done with Richard Grayson? Is that chunk taken out of your neck affecting even _your _sickening personality?"

"Shut up, Jason."

Jason blinked, actually mildly shocked. Definitely not hurt. It wasn't as though he liked any of the Bats and their self-righteous ways, and he was only here for a waffle maker. It had nothing to do with the Replacement's frantic voice and the missed calls last night and any sort of need to check in on his strangely unresponsive brother. Still, this was a little out of character for the first Robin and Golden Child, however much an improvement it might have been. Then there was the little matter of him literally looking rough around the edges.

"The groceries were cheaper in bulk and there's no way I'm dragging it all back to Gotham with me. Face it Goldie, you're helping me eat these waffles. Besides, you could use something with actual nutrients in it, shrimp."

"Not a shrimp." Dick muttered, some of the tension leaving his body.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever gets you up in the morning. I'll whip up a batch while you get some freakin' clothes on, then you're gonna tell me what's got you looking like Frankenstein. Kapish?"

"Whatever, Jay."

"Also it's a good thing I bought baking soda for these, there's blood like, everywhere."

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)

* * *

Tim breathed deeply, relishing the smell of the Starbucks he'd just bought at the campus cafeteria. His was a venti, black, of course, and he'd gotten Callie some new caramel cloud mocha or something that seemed sweet enough for what he knew of her tastes. The sun was peeking out from behind slow-traveling clouds, splitting the campus grounds into patches of shade and light. Luckily, the flight of stone steps leading up to the varsity hall were fully bathed in sunlight, catching the honey hair of the young woman he was visiting.

Callie sat with her backpack to the side, her elbows resting on her knees and her face supported by her hands. A curl draped loosely over one eye, mildly shadowed with exhaustion.

"Finals getting rough?" Tim asked pityingly, sitting down beside her and handing her the coffee. She accepted it gratefully, shaking her head a little.

"Nah, I was just up late last night. You remember that bird I told you about?"

Tim nodded, taking a sip of his own. He wasn't exactly well-rested either, but he'd had far more experience working past it.

"Well, it's a nocturnal type so I was out in the rain all night with my camera, just waiting for it to show up."

"I was about to say, you sound a little stuffed up."

Callie nodded, gesturing to a packet of tissues stuffed in the side pocket of her backpack. "Yeah, it gave me a bit of a head cold but I think it was mostly worth it in the end."

Tim smiled warmly at her, and if he was a little lost in the color of her eyes, well…that was normal enough, wasn't it? "Don't tell me you actually managed to get a shot at it?" he asked, privately thinking that this bird hardly knew what it was missing out on by fleeing from its beautiful photographer.

"Yes, and no. I did manage to get a quick headshot, but the picture was…blurry."

"Aw, that's a shame. But at least you're farther along with it than you were, right?"

Callie smiled at him, making Tim's heart leap into his throat. The feeling only intensified when she laid her head against his shoulder and rested her hand atop his. Tim could feel the burn of a blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, thankful that she was looking away.

"You're so good to me, Tim. We could make a day of it at some point, maybe take a walk in the park, or see the sights and grab a bite to eat?"

Tim thought for a moment, or as much as it was possible to think when his brain felt like it was vibrating and every sound was drowned out by the thumping of his own heart. He'd already had plans to stay at the manor a few days and do some digging with the Batcave's computer into Nightwing's sniper problem, but after the night he'd had…well, let's just say that after getting an hour or two of sleep he'd woken up feeling a bit less relieved and a little more _ticked off_ at his older brother for not just making some time to answer his freakin' phone.

"You know what, Callie? There's nothing I'd rather do." 

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B) 

* * *

Dick picked at his waffle with his fork, stubbornly avoiding meeting his brother's eyes.

Jason had already shoveled in three waffles, lightly buttered with an even amount of syrup applied to each, and was working on his next three. Knowing Dick had a mouthful of sweet tooths (or was it sweet teeth?), he'd generously drowned the first Robin's two waffles in sticky maple, throwing in some chocolate chips and sprinkling the entire thing with powdered sugar for good measure.

And now the ungrateful lout was just _picking _at it like a pouting two year-old. It rankled his nerves and worried him, which automatically made him deal with it in the angriest way possible.

"Either eat your stupid waffle or tell me what the H-E-Double Hockey Stick happened to your neck."

Dick glared at him, the look very out-of-place on the eldest brother's face. His hair had dried weird during the night and stuck out on one side, comically flat on the other, and the stitches running across the side of his neck looked angry and red against the unusual pallor of his skin.

Honestly, it just made Jason angrier.

A second later and the patented Batglare slid off Dick's face. Instead he just looked defeated, going back to staring at his waffle and making no move to eat it. Jason was about to just flip the makeshift coffee table over, get up from his uncomfortable spot on the floor, and walk out (maybe grabbing the waffle maker on his way) when Dick finally spoke.

"Got jumped by some of Ra's al-Ghul's shadows. It was raining and I've been putting a little too much on my schedule lately, so one nicked me with his katana. It was just a stupid mistake, but I'm fine. Happy?"

Jason knew he was lying. It was written all over Dick's goofy, guilt-ridden face, and the man had yet to meet his eyes the whole time he'd spoken. "Sure, Dickiebird, sure. So were you able to identify the sniper's rifle by the sound of the bullet or was it raining too hard to hear?"

Dick jerked his head up and winced, his features melting from surprised to anger to sheepish. That was all the confirmation Jason needed and he shook his head, angrily throwing his fork down onto his plate with a loud clang that made his brother jump a little.

"Dang it, Dick why do you _always _do this? How do you think the Replacements would feel if you ended up on a milk carton? Which do you think would be worse, Bruce and Barbara and Alfred and the others never knowing what happened to you, or having to bury your stupid, dead body!?"

"Little Wing, I – "

"Don't 'Little Wing' me, Dick. Congratulations. You've officially made me mad. Have you never stopped to think for once and ask yourself if you might actually be missed if you…if you died? _Again?_ We don't always come back, you idiot. And as much as it pains me to say it, _we need you. _Bruce needs his Golden Child, Tim needs some sort of a decent figure in his life and everyone knows he's idolized and stalked you since he was freakin' three.

"Damian is a little snotrag and thinks he's above everyone except you and Bruce and _you _were the one who helped him actually be the ten year-old he is for once. You're practically Alfred's favorite grandchild and despite all the times you and Barbara have been on and off again everyone knows you guys are like, soulmates. Which is gross, by the way. But you listen to me, Dick Grayson, and you listen to me well."

Jason paused, swallowing his pride as best as he could and hating every minute of it. Dick was staring at him, completely expressionless, so he chose to glare at the older man as hard as he could.

"We all need you. _I _need you. You're my…my brother. And if you ever bring this up again so help me I will forget everything I ever said and kill you myself. Brutally. With a crowbar."

A minute of silence passed, both former Robins staring at each other.

Then Dick smiled. Just a little one, definitely not his usual million-watt grin, but Jason couldn't help turn up one corner of his mouth as well.

"You're something else, you know." Dick said softly, and Jason found that his chest filled with warmth at the comment. Not that he'd ever show it, of course.

"Yes. Once dead, twice alive. I'm practically the human version of an over-easy egg over here. But take it from someone who knows, you don't want to be dead. It sucks. Now, we're going to call up your work, tell them you're puking your guts out with a stomach bug, and we're going to sneak into the Batcave and try to find out who your mysterious stalker is. Just cross your fingers and hope Bruce isn't there 'cause I'm not sure I can handle a conversation with both of you today."

Dick nodded and Jason felt satisfaction creeping in. It felt good to be bossing the Golden Boy around for once.

"Good. Now, you gonna eat that?"


	5. Sweatpants Are NOT Casual Day-Wear

Chapter 5

* * *

In the end, they had decided to use Jason's bike for transport ("No, Dick, I'm _not _calling it the Hoodcycle!") seeing as the golden child would clearly be a danger to himself and others on the road. And that was how the Red Hood found himself hood and maskless, doing eighty on a sixty-five highway with his eldest brother still in pajamas ("sweatpants are NOT casual day-wear you half-wit!") wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning his head against his back like a friggin' scene from the Titanic.

"You better not pull any stitches and start bleeding on me," Jason growled over his shoulder, pressing his luck a little and nudging the speedometer up to eighty-five. Dick made no answer, but judging by the way the arms squeezed a little tighter the dork was probably smiling that stupid smile he got when he made the false assumption that his 'Little Wing' actually gave a flip about him.

That wasn't the case at all. Jason just needed to make sure this sniper didn't come after _him _on his own territory once the sniper managed to knock Nightwing's block off. All that stuff that was said that morning over waffles? Just a ruse to get Goldie a bit more compliant for later questioning. Easy.

Heh.

Who was he kidding?

"You know, even during the day there's a chance we might run into him." A quiet voice broke into his thoughts.

Jason clenched his jaw, glaring at the road ahead. "If he is, I'll…"

Truth be told, he wasn't sure what he would do if they arrived at the Batcave and the Bat himself was lurking around. Would they just start screaming at each other? Would Bru – Batman kick him out? Would he put him back in Arkham as soon as he saw Jason's guns, whether or not he knew they contained rubber bullets? As much as Jason relished the thought of antagonizing the man who he'd once called 'dad,' as much as he loved rubbing the fact that he'd lived and changed in the old man's ridiculously stoic face…

He couldn't.

Not this time. While their relationship was still far from great and had been built on very, _very _shaky ground, he couldn't abandon Dick like this. Not when Dick needed someone because he just couldn't bring himself to ask anyone for help when he was drowning in an endless sea of twisted crime and maniacs who were literally out to get him. Even when literally _anyone _in the Superhero community would drop what they were doing to help Nightwing, because he was just that freakin' good and perfect and special to everyone, the stubborn idiot had too low an opinion of his own worth to bother someone about something as life-threatening as a sniper. A sniper that had come centimeters close to killing him right then and there, on the roof in the cold rain of night.

Jason suddenly felt like he'd swallowed a knotted rope, half-heartedly angry at himself for feeling comforted by the warm weight pressing into his back. At this rate, he might as well start showing up for Christmas of his own free will.

"Jay? You good?"

Jason snorted, burying his unease. "You're not qualified to ask that question. Shut up and let me drive." 

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B) 

* * *

A record eighteen minutes later, the brothers were quietly making their way through the cold, gloomy depths of the Batcave. Everything was still achingly familiar – the stalagmites, the chittering of the bats, the dim blue glow of the computers, the giant penny, the life-size dinosaur, the glass cases of suits…

Hm. So Bruce still hadn't gotten rid of his memorial.

Jason decided he had no idea how to feel about that one, so he let it slide.

Dick had gone ahead of him and made a beeline for the high-backed chair before the Batcomputer. When he and Jason had finished wrapping up a long case they'd been working together, Dick had insisted they go for some odd cuisine creation called a 'Kolache,' and to Jason's surprise, the stuffed dinner rolls had been pretty good. It was there in a little booth by the window that the eldest had decided to reminisce in what had clearly been an effort to make Jason share some good memories of his own (which he'd refused to do). Dick had babbled on about how each of the Robins (Jason included) had been caught at least once spinning themselves delightfully sick and dizzy in the Batcomputer's chair because the opportunity was too good for even the Demon brat to pass up, apparently.

Casually, Jason strolled up to the side, looking up at the giant set of screens. Dick had pulled up half a dozen files on Roland Desmond and any possible connections he would have with hired assassins. Not just any hired assassins, though – the kind that used _guns_.

Slade Wilson. A.k.a., Deathstroke.

KGBeast, also known as Anatoli Knyazev.

Gunhawk, alias: Liam Hawkleigh.

Red Hood, alias: Jason Todd.

Jason stared at the last one for a moment before swiveling to look over in disbelief. Dick was staring intently at the screen, eyes narrowed, before he typed something out and KGBeast and Red Hood's names dropped form the screen. "Knyazev was recently seen having brunch with the duchess of Cambridge over in jolly old England, so we can eliminate him as a possibility. Obviously, unless you slipped something nasty in those waffles you made, you're not trying to kill me either."

_For now. _Jason thought out of reflex, smirking a little. That smirk faded when Deathstroke's extensive file was brought up. He didn't have to look to know Dick had begun unknowingly holding his breath while he read – a motionless statue of concentration that only allowed itself oxygen when the report came up that the assassin was currently in Australia. It had been years since Dick had been forced to become Renegade, Slade Wilson's apprentice, but everyone close to him knew the first Robin still hated and feared the man. With good reason – Jason always paid the mercenary off instead of confronting him when he had business in Red Hood territory.

"Gunhawk is in prison already, nabbed him myself when he was contracted to take out a lawyer going against some bigwigs in a child prostitution ring lawsuit." Jason interjected quietly, feeling Dick's eyes on him. "What? Bruce got you convinced all I do is hit up bars and murder people I don't like?"

"Names."

Honestly, it was probably pretty comical the way the brothers spun around in their respective positions when the growl split the relative silence of the cave. The friggin' big bad Bat himself stood at the top of the stairs leading to the manor, swaddled in black Kevlar and wearing his customary frown beneath the pointed ears and glaring white lenses of the cowl.

"Bruce!" Dick managed to squeak out, and Jason found himself edging toward the hangar. Maybe he could make a break for his bike before…

"No masks, either?" Batman rumbled, fury and disapproval bleeding through stoicism. Jason thought better of his initial escape plan, sudden anger overriding the batbrat instinct that always stopped him in his tracks when Bruce used _that _kind of tone.

"Yeah, so what?" he snarled, taking a step back and clenching his fists. Beside him, Dick had stood up with a wince, his balance off ever so slightly. "You think your security's that fragile or are you just too ashamed to look me in the eye when you wear that stupid cowl?"

"Jay…" Dick reproached softly, but the older brother's tone said he was already exhausted and defeated. There would be no proper referee tonight.

Sure enough, Bruce quickly descended the stairs, cape swirling behind him and strode over in long, purposeful strides until he and his second Robin were mere inches apart. To Jason's savage pleasure, he was nearly eye to eye with the Batman now.

"What is _he _doing here." Batman asked, or rather stated, and all three knew it wasn't directed toward the Hood.

"Oh, you know, Little Wing was just helping me infiltrate the manor to borrow one of your outdated turtlenecks for my latest fashion statement." Dick replied easily, trying to lighten the situation a bit.

Both Batman and the Red Hood stared at him with matching expressions.

"You poor, poor idiot…" Jason muttered, shaking his head.

"What's wrong with your neck."

Ooh, scary. It was SO like Bruce to use his interrogation voice to ask after his favorite son's health.

"It doesn't have a turtleneck sweater, that's what!" Dick protested when Batman stepped over and grabbed his shoulder, drawing the younger adult forward and using his other gloved hand to lightly push Dick's head back, ignoring the stifled cry of pain. There was a growl of frustration.

"Dickie's got a sniper on him, old man. Or rather, Nightwing does."

Dropping his head, Jason added under his breath, "You should be thanking me for making him do something about it that's not just putting a gunshot to the neck on the backburner."

"B, it's not bad. It just clipped me."

"Who."

"What do you think we were doing before you stormed in and started pouting and trying to intimidate us!?" Jason exploded, raising his fists a little and taking a step forward so that they were all in uncomfortably close proximity once more. "Is that stupid cowl so tight around your swollen head that you can't even put two and two together and realize that we don't even friggin' know? That maybe we were trying to figure that out before you just _had _to sashay your little caped butt up here and start acting like we're both _children _who don't _know any better!?" _

Batman's eyes narrowed and Dick let out a breathy, "Oh boy."

"Last I checked, _you're _still a murderer and you made it clear you are not our ally." the Dark Knight coldly stated, and Jason's face went bright red.

"Not our – are you _kidding me right now!? _I've probably worked with Nightwing and even Red Robin more than you have the past few months! And it aaalways goes back to the murder thing, doesn't it? Well _maybe _if you had been a little more concerned with a certain _murderer _who murdered _me _I wouldn't – "

"FATHER! WHAT IS THIS IMBECILE DOING IN OUR CAVE?"

"Dami – " Dick tried to get in, resignation giving way to panic when he realized he was about to be trapped in the same room as a very angry Batman, Red Hood, and Robin four point oh. Or five, if you counted Steph. Either way, getting Damian to settle down while in the same room as his father was hard enough on a good day… he was _so _not up to this.

"I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION FOR WHY TODD IS STANDING NEXT TO GRAYSON WITHOUT MASKS AND WEARING SWEATPANTS."

"Dick's the only one wearing sweatpants you little twerp!" Jason snarled as the youngest bird came into view, wearing his Robin suit and wielding his katana with a deadly glint to the blade.

"He was just. Leaving." Batman said brusquely, with a pointed look.

"No. I. _Wasn't." _Jason ground back through gritted teeth.

"Guys, can we please - "

"You sickening creature, get away from Grayson and father before I cleave you in two!" Damian sneered in all his four foot nine glory. Jason let out a raucous laugh, slapping an impossibly more stiffened Batman on the back.

"Wouldya get a load of this kid? All bark and the bite of a trained terrier. He's a mini-Bruce in the making."

"Get your hand off me, Jason."

"Father, do I have permission to end him now?"

"HA! As if you could!"

"JASON, you are to leave. _Now._"

"_Make me."_

"I myself will be more than happy to do so, you low-born gutter trash!"

With a roar Jason flung himself forward, fist back and ready to punch, and Damian leapt into the air with his blade over his head, both faces twisted in rage. Batman growled again and instantly a few batarangs appeared in his hands, and all in all it looked to be an all-out warzone when all of a sudden…

"STOP! _STOP IT! NOW." _

It wasn't so much the volume of Dick's screamed words that actually brought them all to obedience, but rather the shock at the sound of the hoarse break in his voice. The outburst had clearly been painful for him, what with the stitches holding the gaping wound in his neck closed and all, but even that was not enough to distract from the pure _fury _in his eyes as he glared at each of them in turn.

"Will you…all just… _shut up._"

With a shuddering breath he gathered himself up and pushed through the midst of his previously raging family, heading for the stairs to the manor. "I'm going to hunt down Alfred and get some painkillers, d-dig through Bruce's closet and make questionable fashion s-statements…and…I…I'm gonna go find Tim. He's the _only _one of you who hasn't lost his freakin' mind, apparently."

With that said, the slam of the door echoed throughout the cave for a good bit, leaving a stunned silence in its wake.


	6. Dick, What Are You Even Wearing

Chapter 6 

* * *

__

_Chirpingford Estate and Botanical Gardens._

"Wow, Timmy, you're actually pretty good at this." Dick murmured, staring up at the massive trellis that formed the entrance to Gotham's most scenic location. Boy, Poison Ivy would have a literal _field _day with this one. In fact, he wouldn't put it past her at all to have infiltrated the staff already so she could whisper sweet nothings to the plants, or whatever it is she liked to do. Then again, the likeliest reason she hadn't used this particular place to her advantage was probably her way of keeping the city's very scarce nature from being contaminated by Gotham's…well, nature.

"You do you, Ivy, but don't let it plant any ideas in your head."

Dick smirked at his inside-pun, striding forward purposefully and ignoring the looks he was getting. Let the people stare, and all that. Besides, they had nothing on poor old Alfred's reaction – the butler had nearly dropped the batch of homemade protein bars he'd just pulled from the oven when the eldest 'batbro' walked in. And yes, getting the others to use 'batbro' to describe themselves was a work in progress.

The sun was beating down rather blindingly – good for the multitudes of colorful flowers set in greenery all around the paved path, but bad for someone wearing a sweater in eighty-degree weather. He'd better find Tim and his undoubtedly charming young lass quick.

Pulling his phone out from his back pocket, Dick squinted through his sunglasses, just barely able to make out what was on the darkened screen. He'd tried calling Tim from the manor a few times, only to receive no reply. Alarmed, he had gone back to Alfred (who was still giving him that subtle look of disappointment and worry that had been on his face since Dick stumbled into the kitchen asking for painkillers), and asked him if he'd heard from Tim lately.

"Young Master Tim is currently on a _date,_" the old butler had stated curtly, handing over a peanut butter bar nonetheless. He had remained silent until Dick took a bite. "and I would strongly advise you to wait until tonight to contact him."

"I would, Alfie, I really would – but I've got to get back to Bludhaven tonight to deal with a weapons exchange between Markov and Desmond's men down at the docks. It's going to be a hard enough operation to break up without having to worry about crosshairs on my head."

Alfred had winced at that last statement, but remained reluctant to give his blessing on the matter, and so Dick had left. Quickly. Before the two and a half hotheads in the basement could claw their way past each other up the stairs.

Oh, how he wished he was exaggerating the clawing bit.

"Look, Mommy!" a little girl with freckles and a ponytail cried out, pointing. Considering a brick wall and a garbage can were the only things around in the direction she was pointing, Dick realized she was staring at _him. _The mother, dressed to the nines in a striped sundress complete with a wide-brimmed straw hat, was talking on the phone and turned away from her daughter. A flash of disappointment passed over the little girl's face, her smile faltering.

Swiftly checking to make sure no one was looking (the few other people were all oohing and ahhing over a purple martin house in the opposite direction), Dick did the one thing that never failed to cheer up kids. Well, excluding his youngest brother, of course. With a crouch, a burst of energy, and a spring, Dick landed a perfect backflip, grinning over at the girl and waggling his eyebrows at its finish. Delight replaced disappointment and the little girl gasped before clapping quietly, her own smile showing a missing tooth.

Dick gave a little bow and touched his cap's brim before moving on, his heart warm and melting like one of Alfred's chocolate chip cookies.

_Oh Tim, oh Tim, wherever may you be… _

A robin flitted onto the path branching off to his right and Dick briefly considered whether it was some sort of omen the universe had sent to help him find his brother. A glance down the road revealed it to be the way to the restrooms, so hopefully not.

Modern Art and Fountains Display?

Now _that _sounded more likely. Not because Tim was into that sort of thing, really, but more because the sleep deprived hacker probably thought it would score him some cultural brownie points with his date. Ah, Timmy. So much to learn.

Dick smirked, power-walking as best as someone in his current footwear possibly could, the fresh air and the prospect of meeting Tim's girlfriend pushing the dull throb of pain in his neck to the back of his mind.

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)

Tim had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

Sure, he had dated before…okay, maybe Todd was right and it didn't really count since every girl he'd been with had dumped him within a time frame of two days to three weeks.

Except…

Except Stephanie.

Even just thinking of her made Tim feel all sorts of emotions he just couldn't process right now. Or then. Or ever, maybe. He didn't really do the whole emotion thing anyway, that was his two older brothers' department. Tim had always been the logical one – the cold one – the Robin who never stopped thinking and had pushed matters of the heart down into a tiny, dark corner of his being for as long as he could remember. It had started with his parents, the mother and the father who could never find the time to so much as _give _him the time. He'd grown up alone in an empty mansion, just like Bruce.

And apparently, just like Bruce, he was completely and utterly 'emotionally constipated.'

Steph had worked so hard to help him with that. But in the end, Tim's life was just destined for disappointment and the hashtag 'Forever Alone,' if you wanted to get all reality show on it. Perhaps it had something to do with the foundation of their relationship – she fell in love with him when she was Spoiler and he was Robin, he created an alias to date her outside the cape, Bruce butted in and tore the façade to shreds and left them both in the scraps, Tim's dad discovered his secret and he quit being Robin so Steph took up the mantle because Batman needed a Robin, Tim came back to it when his father died and she trained with the Birds of Prey, she got beaten up and 'died,' Tim got caught up in something and faked dying, etc. etc. etc.

Stephanie Brown and Timothy Drake were too good to happen.

"…Tim? Your ice cream's melting…"

Tim blinked, the memories leaking away and leaving him with what should be a very happy present, surrounded by flowers, feasting on dippin' dots, and scrunched up side by side with a beautiful girl who smiled like the sun and somehow liked him back.

"Uh…whoops." Tim said blankly, leveling the tiny plastic tub so his dulce de leche didn't leak all over his khaki shorts. He winced when he saw the red tint to his normally deathly white legs. "Good call, I didn't even notice."

"What were you thinking about?" Callie asked softly, looking up at him through long eyelashes. Her hair was swept up into a loose bun on top of her head, but a curl had strayed and was dangling just over her eye. Tim had a sudden urge to sweep it back and he raised his hand, stopping before it had cleared the halfway point between them. Callie reached her own hand up and grabbed his, their fingers intertwining and the ice cream forgotten.

Tim felt suddenly breathless, and his leg immediately began to bounce. He swallowed.

"Uh, well… uhm…"

He couldn't very well say he was thinking of his ex, could he?

The space between them seemed shorter and she was gazing into his eyes as though she could read everything on his mind, her expression soft and warm as though she didn't care and only saw _him…_he could see her so clearly right now, with barely a foot between them, the slight upturn to her nose, the soft curve of her lips, the way her head was angled just so…

Oh.

_Oh. _

Ohhhhhhh.

She was going to kiss him, wasn't she? And based on the way he was automatically leaning towards her, meeting her eyes, his own lips parted slightly… he was going to kiss her back?

Yes. Yes he was.

Giving in, Tim leaned forward even more at the same time she did, their noses bumping briefly (it made the corner of her lips quirk up) before their faces met and they lost themselves in a kiss – all the analyzation grinding to a halt in his mind and clearing it for something that seemed as automatic and natural as breathing itself. Except for the part where another subconscious part of him was quietly panicking at whether or not his breath smelled like ice cream and coffee. Hers was wonderful, faintly minty from her choice of dippin' dots flavor.

Their fingers were still interlocked but Tim gently caressed the side of her face with his other hand, surprising himself with how right it felt. It didn't matter that he'd gotten sunburnt. It didn't matter that someone walking past snorted when they saw the two lovebirds sitting on the stone wall. It didn't matter that Tim didn't usually like someone invading his personal bubble. It didn't matter that someone was calling out his name in excitement. It didn't matter that –

Wait.

What?

"TIIIIMMYY!"

_Oh no. Oh please no. _

Tim broke off the kiss as gently as he could, hating the look of confusion that was quickly replacing the peaceful look Callie had been wearing. A sudden shadow blocked the sun and he looked up, blinking a little and letting his eyes adjust. He felt his jaw drop.

Dick. Of course it was Dick. Who _else _would be walking around a botanical garden dressed in sweatpants, a black _turtleneck _of all things, a baseball cap shoved over scraggly raven hair, reflective shades, and…

Oh good grief. Were those _flip flops with socks?_

"Yo, little brother! Did your phone break or something?"

Despite the shock, Tim felt an ugly anger replace the warm, cozy feeling in his chest. He hadn't answered any of Dick's calls from earlier, even going so far as to put his phone on mute. Call it petty revenge for the night before where he'd nearly had a panic attack worrying for his older brother's safety, but Dick had absolutely _no _right to talk. "What do you want?" he asked bluntly, straight and to the point. "As you can see, I'm kind of busy here, Dick."

Dick gave a little start as if noticing his younger brother's companion for the first time. The sneaky ex-Robin had probably already given her some sort of older brother checklist run-down through his peripheral.

"And you must be Callie! Pleasure, I'm sure. Timbo can't stop talking about you, ya know."

Callie blushed and shook Dick's outstretched hand, making Tim's ears burn with some cross between second-hand embarrassment and anger.

"I'm afraid I don't have much time to make your acquaintance, unfortunately. If I could just borrow you boyfriend here for a sec – "

"I asked you what you want, now spill."

Tim couldn't be sure, but it looked like hurt briefly flashed across the older man's face.

Good.

"Well, you know, that _thing _that I was having problems with? I think…I think I need your help figuring out who's doing it."

Tim snorted in disbelief, staring up incredulously at the reflective lenses that hid Dick's eyes. "Seriously? After ignoring me like that last night? Go talk to Bruce if you need help with your… _relationships. _Leave me out of it."

Okay, that was definitely hurt pulling down the corners of the normally smiling mouth. Even as the words hung in the air, Tim began to regret it – just not enough to keep from lashing out still further.

"I-I tried, Timmy, but you know how he is….I just – I just need…. _Please, Timmy._"

"My name's Tim, Dick," the teen snapped, barely noticing when Callie gave his hand a little supportive squeeze. "and I'm trying to live my life away from the family issues right now, if you don't mind. Find someone else to help shoulder the consequences of your actions."

He knew it was harsh. He didn't have to have some sort of empathetic superpower or even just a normal human range of empathy to feel the rejection and despair radiating off his stunned elder brother, dressed in that ridiculous outfit and looking like some low-budget spy movie reject. But Tim also knew he was sick and tired of being ignored and only sought after when he was the last one available to help. Tired of his family's vigilante nightlife interfering with Tim Drake's daytime. Tired of spending all his energy worrying and sweating over reckless brothers only for them to be perfectly fine in the end.

Just, tired.

"I see." Dick replied icily, recovering from the electric pause. "In that case, I wouldn't want to let my little personal problem interfere with your life. See you 'round, little brother."

Somehow, even though it was exactly what Tim thought he'd wanted to hear, it was still cutting and each word felt like a stab to his heart. This feeling was only amplified when Dick turned on his heel and walked away with shoulders bent, as though the brief exchange had left behind a heavy weight for him to carry. "Or not." the eldest muttered, barely audible.

Left alone with his girlfriend, Tim made a few half-hearted attempts to keep their conversation going, not even trying for another kiss. Callie said something about his brother seeming kind of familiar but Tim was too lost in an overwhelming sea of thoughts and conflicting emotions to pay attention to what she said.

_Dick you heartless, self-righteous, self-sacrificing, selfish, annoying, ridiculous idiot, I – I…_

_I'm sorry. _

Just not sorry enough.

Besides, Dick had plenty of others to help him if he really needed it.

Right? 

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)(R)(B) 

* * *

"Tt. Ingrates."

Damian used all his pent-up anger to decapitate the holographic enemy in his father's training program. Grayson had left nearly an hour ago, and yet Father and the Biggest Family Disappointment were still screaming at each other in front of the computer. Pfft. Clearly, the Lazarus Pit had failed to restore a select portion of brain matter in Todd, if he'd had any in the first place. The excuse could be made in Father's case that Todd's temper, which had somehow resisted the dampening effect of his own age, had created an energy field that put anyone who in his immediate vicinity into an ill mood.

Or, they were both simply blind as a bat. Tt. Grayson would be proud of his wordplay. That is, he would if he were ever around long enough to appreciate it…

Damian shifted into a defensive stance, feeling an uneasiness that had nothing to do with the extraordinarily high level he was training on. No, he could take this program in his sleep and still beat out Drake's pathetic scores. It was the thought of Grayson storming off, leaving the manor at breakneck speeds on one of the Harley's his father kept in the hangar. The man was _wounded _and clearly in no condition to be doing so, not to mention if the sniper somehow found out his identity…

"You should never have run off and left me behind, Grayson," the boy muttered, performing an aerial move _his_ Batman had taught him early in their short career together. The move scattered the training holograms like chaff born on a bloody wind. "you should have stayed in Gotham and continued our partnership. You should have stayed with _me._"

Then again perhaps that was not entirely in his elder brother's best interests, based on the performance his father and the two replacements had put on earlier. Perhaps he himself should have simply gone with Grayson…and there lay the problem. He would forever be torn between the man he'd been taught to respect as his father and origin of his perfected DNA, and the man he'd grown to respect because of who he was.

A sudden despair seized Damian and he blinked, still unused to these strong…_feelings _he experienced when Grayson was involved. Richard Grayson was undoubtedly the only reason their little… - here he sneered – … 'family,' remained in any way together, and when Grayson wasn't happy…. No one was.

"Beseeching Drake for help is a waste of time, his brain is far too contaminated by caffeine and hormones for him to be of any use. _I _will track down Grayson's would-be killer and prove to him that I am the only one he can possibly rely upon, seeing as I am both genetically and mentally superior in every way to both Todd and Drake."

The ten year-old smirked, spinning in a wide arc and finishing up the program before sheathing his katana with a flourish. Perhaps Grayson would be so elated and proud, he would take him out for ice cream afterwards. Just the two of them.

Just like old times. 

* * *

**Thank you to everyone reading! Fanfiction is freakin' addictive to write...which is great because I'm trying to get back into writing (gotten waayyy rusty) and this is helping :D Also, some of you may have noticed there is no cursing in this story...sorry for the lack of realism, but I'm kind of writing this for my younger sister. Thanks again, and happy reading!**


	7. Ohhhhhh Rockin' Robin (Tweet! Tweet!)

Chapter 7 

* * *

"…and after _that, _I would rather hang by my bleeping _toes _'offa skyscraper under _construction _than spend a single _second _longer with you and your cohort of replacements and cannon fodder than is absolutely necessary to save Golden Boy from his own self-esteem issues! I'd rather go to a friggin' sleepover with the _Joker _and _braid his hair _and _paint his curling toenails _than help _you _out! Not unless _I'm _getting something out of it_"_

"Calm down."

"Cal – you _son of a – a, _how DARE YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!"

This was stupid. All so freakin' stupid. Jason didn't even need his hood on to be seeing red. And red was _not _Bruce's color. His fingernails were leaving tiny crescent cuts straight through the callouses on his hands, his jaw clenched so hard it felt like it would shatter at any second. Right along with any control he might have.

Bruce just stood there, cowl still on, looking both cold and smug as he undoubtedly enjoyed getting such a rise out of his 'biggest mistake.' Jason knew it shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did… he just wasn't worth it. Yet there was still some raw, festering part of him that ached and craved something from the man he'd once called father that Jason would never be able to get.

No, instead he was standing here in civvies screaming out some twisted version of the game 'Would You Rather,' in which he meticulously laid out all the terrible situations he'd rather be in than be stuck in the same room as Bruce.

And the man who couldn't be bothered to avenge him just let it slide off his stupid, sleek cloak and still had the nerve to tell Jason to _calm down?! _

"You act like you care about Nightwing," Bruce interrupted before Jason could really get going again. The teen's face twisted into an even nastier look, but he continued. "and yet you've failed to notice, even with all the training that _I've _given you, that he has left the Cave."

Jason's prepared retort died in his throat and he felt his jaw drop a little. Sure enough, a quick scan of the cave showed that both Dick and the Demon Brat were nowhere to be found.

"Are you _kidding me?" _he shrieked, using all his strength to shove Batman in the chest, satisfied when the sizeable man nearly fell over. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, HE'S PROBABLY ALREADY GOTTEN HIMSELF IN ANOTHER SITUATION!"

"My fault? Your forbidden presence in my Cave was the instigator to Dick's untimely absence." Batman replied coolly, sidestepping when Jason tried to shove him again.

"First of all, forbidden presence, Bruce? _REALLY? _Since when? What happened to the whole 'Ohhh Jaybird we _miss _you please come home' you were spewing last Thanksgiving, huh? And don't you _dare _try to pin this on me! You can't always use me as the Scapegoat, bruce!"

"You're a _murderer!"_

"You refuse to do what needs to be done!"

"You have no right to be here."

"I have no right to be _living!"_

"SIRS!"

The two men startled at the very British sound of indignation. Their faces, inches apart by now, turned to see the elderly Butler a few feet away, bringing them both shame once they'd realized _they'd _been snuck up on. Sure, it was Alfred, but still. Alfred wore his disappointment heavily, the lines and cracks and liver spots standing out even more in its wake, giving away just how truly old he was getting. Apparently, age had had little effect on his ability to make any of them shut up and listen.

"Master Bruce, your parents would be rolling in their graves right now if they heard you speaking in such an unfair manner to your son. I know I myself am more than distressed at seeing you give so little regard for the lessons in patience and objectivity I endeavored for so long to instill within you throughout your rearing."

The Batman winced under his cowl and Jason forgot to be angry at the 'son' comment, giving out a low whistle instead. Alfred had to be seriously _ticked _to bring out that particular card…which made the Red Hood more than a little nervous to know what was in store for himself. He wasn't disappointed.

"And you, Master Jason. It is my regret that your visit should be met with such hostility, whether it is deserved or not. You also brought an ailing Master Richard with you, which is commendable despite the former's departure soon after. However, your easy willingness to completely forget about that which brought you here in favor of exchanging heated words with your father is most disheartening."

"…Not my father." Jason muttered, but he continued to hang his head and stare at his feet. Bruce was doing the same, maybe with a little less of an angle. Prideful _git_.

"Now, I would like the two of you to set aside your differences for once and figure out how the two of you may approach the situation as adults, that you might use the extensive resources of the Cave and your own experiences to get to the bottom of Master Richard's problem. Also, might I suggest you do so within the next five to ten minutes – I have prepared a brunch and coffee to fuel you both through your research. It would not do to be served cold."

With that, the butler primly turned, straight-backed as ever, and made his way up the stairs. Silence filled the cave once he'd finally left, a strange peace that contrasted greatly with what had been only minutes before.

"You know as well as I there's no arguing with Alfie." Jason said in a low voice, and the gruff 'Hrn' from Bruce sounded generally in agreement.

It was going to be a long day.

Brunch had better be good. 

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)(R)(B) 

* * *

If there was one thing Dick Grayson hated, it was dirty dishes.

It didn't matter how many Styrofoam bowls and plastic spoons he had to buy, he _never _brought out the three plates and sets of silverware he currently owned. That being said, Jason had somehow managed to find them (hadn't they been on top of the fridge?) and now they were sitting on his shipping crate slowly bonding to rubbery waffle pieces and smears of sticky syrup. Between that, the disassembled makeup kit, the blanket in the floor, the bits of his Nightwing suit (whoops), and the garbage that still needed to be taken out…

Well, his apartment was a mess.

"My life's a mess, so why not my living space, too?" Dick grumbled, roughly stacking the plates up and taking them to the kitchen. He dumped the remaining food into the overflowing trash can and all but threw them in the sink, the resulting rattle echoing slightly. Cursing when he realized he was out of dish soap, he plugged up the drain and let the hot water run (or trickle, more like – the water pressure was seriously horrible). With a squeak he shut the water off again and paused, turning to look back at the tiny living room.

It was so empty.

Everything was so quiet.

Dick ripped off his sunglasses and cap and hurled them at the couch, barely restraining the yell of absolute anger and frustration he so desperately wanted to let loose.

It just…it wasn't _fair. _

"I'm not a _child!" _he growled out, feeling every inch like one as his vision began to blur yet again. His work was exhausting. Bludhaven was exhausting. His family was exhausting. He was _exhausted. _Not very 'hausted' at all.

Dick gave out a strangled laugh at that thought – it had been so long since he'd first decided to play with words and prefixes like that…he wondered briefly if Wally still had that 'Dictionary of Ri-Dick-ulous Words in the Queen's English' that they'd spent their time off compiling, giggling under Wally's sheets with a notebook, flashlight, and some form of sugar that Aunt Iris would undoubtedly have disapproved of at such a late hour.

Dick started to rub his neck before flinching and removing his hand. Wally had always been there for him, and vice versa. Until the Invasion and the Speedforce and the impossible situations… even after Wally returned and they'd made up, something almost tangible had been built between them, an invisible wall that continued to separate them and the absolute best friends the two had been. Wally had wanted to work on it, but Dick had been Batman again at the time, too caught up in the responsibilities of two cities and one very angry little assassin. Oh, and Tim had been mad at him. Jason had wanted to kill him at the time, too. And Barbara. And…yeah, needless to say, Dick hadn't had a lot of time to work on relationships.

But now…if anything, maybe Nightwing's 'appointment' at the docks and the ever-looming threat of his number one stalker was a good enough excuse to call up an old friend for a get-together.

"Alright, Walls, you better still have that ringtone I set when we were kids." 

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)  
_  
_

* * *

_Tweedle-lee-diddle-lee-dee,_

_Tweedle-lee-diddle-lee-dee!_

_Tweedle-lee-diddle-lee-dee,_

_Tweedle-lee-diddle-lee-dee!_

_Tweedle-lee-diddle-lee-dee,_

_Tweedle-lee-diddle-lee-dee!_

_Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!_

_He rocks through the tree tops, all the day long!_

_Hoppin' and a-boppin' and a-singin' his song_

_All the little birds on Jay Bird Street!_

_Love to hear the Robin going tweet, tweet, tweet!_

"Rockin' Robin," the redhead murmured, blinking blearily at the sunlight streaming through his window. The sun shouldn't' be there…it was his day off! He was supposed to sleep in until the sun was on the other side of the house! But then again, since he was already up he could eat more food…

_Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!_

_Rock, rock, rockin' Robin (Tweet! Tweedle-lee-dee!)_

_Blow, rockin' Robin, 'cause we're really gonna rock tonight!_

_Tweet, tweedle-lee-dee!_

"Wait a sec…no, like a millisec…"

Wally's eyes shot open and he sat straight up, his Green Lantern Corps shirt sticking to his back in morning sweat. Eww….grosssss. Artemis was already up, unless she'd managed to somehow become invisible and was occupying the indentations in the bed next to him.

The speedster picked up his phone and stared at the caller I.D. for a moment, as though the cheerful warbling of Bobby Day wasn't evidence enough of who was calling. Closing his eyes a moment and silently hoping this was going to be a chit-chat kind of call, Wally slid the little green phone icon to the side.

"What's up, Dick?" 

* * *

(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)(R)(B)

* * *

"_I told you to go home, Damian."_

"_I'm coming with you, Richard."_

_Nightwing stood with his arms crossed, slightly hunched in on himself. The blue and black-clad vigilante kept clenching and unclenching his fists, seemingly not knowing what to do with his hands – a testament to how desperate he was at the moment, and how…scared. "No, you aren't. I need my head in the game, not dealing with your Hissy fits."_

_Damian winced. Before, he would already have had his blade at the throat of any man who would insult him in this way, but now? This was Grayson. Grayson only became stern when Damian did something that truly deserved such treatment, not when he was merely trying to…trying to help. It was clear the former Batman needed it, distraught as he was over his possibly pregnant girlfriend being kidnapped. _

_For now, he would be patient._

"_Our worlds have changed, Grayson," Damian began quietly, taking a step forward and spreading his arms for emphasis. "Drake is gone, Duke is in the Mansion. I'm stationed in San Francisco with the Titans. You're here."_

_He tried to make that last part sound less accusatory than it felt. He really did._

"_But one thing remains the same. When you're in this kind of state, you'll surely get yourself killed without someone as focused and infallible as me watching your back."_

_Nightwing stared down at the boy who once followed him as Robin. Neither moved for several seconds, white lenses glaring, narrowing, searching the other. Finally, the older chuckled humorlessly, his stiff posture relaxing a little and looking more like himself. _

"_Yeah, okay. You're right. I could use….A Batman. One question."_

_Nightwing gestured towards the sleek car parked just behind Robin. _

"_Did you steal our _old Batmobile_ from the cave?"_

_Damian could not resist the grin that stole across his face, feeling a rush of happiness and warmth as the realization that they were going to work together as a unit again fully sunk in. _

"_Indeed. Now let's move." _

"Tt. Now you've gone and gotten yourself into a conundrum yet again, but you left before I could offer my unequivocally invaluable help."

Damian stopped his cycle at an intersection, considering. Grayson had not specifically said where he was going except for mentioning something about Drake, and Alfred had not given him any details as to where the pathetic hacker would be on the basis that Damian would not be in any way discreet in his intrusion on Drake's _date. _Pfft. As though that was any kind of good reason to keep him from finding Richard and assuring him Drake's help would no longer be necessary now that _he _was on the case.

That left making the drive to Bludhaven and waiting for his brother to return, assuming he wouldn't just stay over at Drake's asinine excuse for appropriate living quarters. That is, they were a sight better than Grayson's dingy apartment, but Drake had already contaminated the area with his presence. Or in other words, Damian was out of options.

Or was he?

"Perhaps, the Titans…?" Robin muttered uncertainly, his voice distorted by his motorcycle helmet in a way that was not unlike Todd's poor choice of costume. "…No, they would undoubtedly make matters worse in some way or the other. They are best contained within Jump City."

Desperately he racked his brain for anyone he felt would be able to help him handle Grayson's problem – accurately, discreetly, thoroughly, and _intelligently. _Those conditions didn't leave him much to work with, and Damian found himself gripping the handlebars with unnecessary force when someone behind him blasted their horn. He turned his head, ready to give the driver a piece of his mind when a particular feature on the woman visible through the windshield caused an idea to click into place.

"Perfect. Not only will we catch the despicable creature hunting Grayson, but she will undoubtedly tongue-lash some sense into his thickened skull."

With a screech of tires, Damian shot forward, leaving behind a confused redheaded stranger in a car now thoroughly coated in proverbial dust. 

* * *

**So updates might slow down quite a bit from here on, sorry... I work at a theater and we're playing Avengers right now so naturally I'm exhausted by the end of the day XD Still, there will be at least a weekly update! Oh, and why am I not writing Marvel fanfiction right now, you ask? **

**Reasons...shhhh...**


End file.
